


Ineffable Parents

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aziraphale and Crowley Live Together (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley are Warlock Dowling's 'Parents', Basically they raise Warlock until he turns 11 instead of quitting once he's 6, Brother Francis (Good Omens) - Freeform, Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Warlock grew up and isn't spoiled anymore, also he hates his parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It was strange that he was enjoying this conversation so far, as he didn’t really like kids.This was, of course, incorrect. Crowley had a soft spot for children since the very first one came about, and he rather liked helping raise Warlock with Aziraphale. In fact, he caught himself wanting his own child. These thoughts were promptly shoved down and ignored in favor of trying to make the kid ‘evil’. Or in other words, influence Warlock to glue 20 P to sidewalks and stop traffic for 40 second intervals. How dastardly.





	1. One

“Is Nanny Ashtoreth in?” A young man’s voice sang clearly from Crowley’s answering machine. He had stopped in to water (and threaten) his plants, when the phone started ringing.

It was a miraculous thing, literally. It wasn’t connected to a land line because Crowley wasn’t jumping to ‘pay’ another bill. He just _made_ it work. _(Like how he made the Bentley run, because he wasn’t going to stop and fill his tank, seriously, he had places to be.)_

Crowley paused, holding the phone with a limp hand. He had picked it up once the person finished talking and he was starting to freeze up. “I, eh, uh, who’s this?” He cursed himself for the verbal key smash and waited for the person’s response.

“Warlock Dowling?” He answered, sounding like he was on the verge of hanging up.

“And you were looking for…?” Crowley asked, trying to buy himself more time before he had to fake handing the phone off to ‘Nanny.’

“Um, Nanny Ashtoreth? Do I have the wrong number?”

Crowley grumbled to himself before faking a revelation. “Oh, you mean my sister. Yes, she’s here, just give me a moment.” He settled on being the brother rather the husband because well, he’d rather die than pretend to be in a heterosexual relationship, even for a single phone call. He put Warlock on hold while he thought.

Crowley miracled his ‘costume’ on to get into character. “Hello?” He asked, forcing his voice back into the soft and feminine Scottish accent that he’d used all those years ago. How long had it been anyway? Ten years? Twenty? Crowley wasn’t great at remembering the date to the exact year since he tended to sleep through centuries and call it a nap. He was even worse when it came to months.

“Nanny?” Warlock asked with a tinge of hope. It made Crowley’s heart melt into a sad, sad little puddle.

“Oh hello dear, how long has it been now? You sound so grown up.” Crowley had no idea how to talk to children. Or young adults. Or anyone really. (He also felt like he sounded like a weird feminine Aziraphale which. Was strange. He can’t remember how he used to talk when he was Nanny Ashtoreth.)

Warlock doesn’t seem to notice a change. “Nine years.” He answered bashfully. Crowley could picture the shy, excited smile on his face. It was strange that he was enjoying this conversation so far, as he didn’t really like kids.

_This was, of course, incorrect. Crowley had a soft spot for children since the very first one came about, and he rather liked helping raise Warlock with Aziraphale. In fact, he caught himself wanting his own child. These thoughts were promptly shoved down and ignored in favor of trying to make the kid ‘evil’. Or in other words, influence Warlock to glue 20 P to sidewalks and stop traffic for 40 second intervals. How dastardly._

“So you’d be about twenty now? What are you doing calling me? Don’t you have a fantastic young life to get back to?” Crowley asked this with nothing but gentle teasing. Warlock chuckled and then sounded a little nervous.

“Well… I just wanted to thank you.” Warlock answered, “My childhood was so… excuse my language, fucked up, and you were the only adult, the only _person_ , that seemed to really care about me.”

Crowley felt his breath catch and he swallowed hard. He knew Warlock’s parents were never around, and he doubted that changed, but he was suddenly struck with sympathy for the poor boy. He hadn’t thought about his parent’s negligence affecting him in such an important way. But then, he didn’t worry himself with mortal issues.

(Even though they were so very close to his own feelings toward the Almighty. He supposed his pain was worse in the grand scheme of things, but the feeling of being cast out by your own creator, uncared for… Crowley was sure Warlock felt that almost every day.)

“Oh, I’m… I’m so touched.” Crowley said, his real voice almost slipping with how genuinely he felt. “Of course I cared about you darling. You were my little devil child.”

Crowley covered his mouth to stifle a few sobs before they could come out. Warlock had been so little, and he remembered vividly calling him that. Aziraphale pretended to hate it but couldn’t think of a good enough endearment to rival it, so Devil child it was.

“I know it’s weird seeing as you’re like… not obligated to care for me anymore, but I thought we could go out to lunch… to catch up? Is that weird?” Warlock wasn’t the spoiled little brat that he was so fond of anymore. In fact he seemed to be shaping up to be a nice young man. Crowley was almost proud before he realized he was only around for 11 or so years of this kid’s life.

_Crowley had nearly forgotten again that, to mortals, 11 was a pretty large chunk out of 20, and that those 11 made up almost all of Warlock’s childhood. The developmental stage and who is present during it tends to leave a pretty big effect on the child, but of course, Crowley was only thinking of 11 versus his own 6000 year life span. It seemed impossibly short comparatively._

“I’d love to see you again.” Crowley said instinctively, feeling energized with the affection from his son. Or no, not his son. His not-antichrist-that-he-raised-for-eleven-years. Either way Crowley felt over the moon. (Figure of speech, though Crowley wouldn’t be surprised if his wings were summoned and he actually flew over it out of pure joy.)

They picked a date to meet and just as Warlock was about to hang up he gasped. “Oh, I almost forgot. This may be a bit… presumptuous, but I was wondering if you had Brother Francis’ number? I wanted to talk to him too, but he hadn’t left a phone number in the family records.”

Of course his angel wouldn’t leave his contact information. Aziraphale barely bothered to pick up the store phone, so he didn’t see a need for a personal number or address. If anything, the angel probably put down his mailing address. (Which no kid would use, unless they were Adam Young, who seemed to think writing letters, buying stamps, and dropping them in the box was _fun_.)

“Oh dear, he doesn’t have a phone. I’d be happy to visit him for you if you’d like. Perhaps he could come to lunch with us?” And with Crowley’s own words he damned himself to a domestic evening out with his not-antichrist and his not-boyfriend/husband. This was going to be a disaster.

“I. That’d be so cool. I can’t wait to see you guys again!” With that, the young boy hung up and Crowley let himself melt into a vaguely demon shaped puddle. So soon after he was done with Warlock’s call, the phone rang again. Crowley let it go to voicemail.

“Crowley, where have you been?” Aziraphale’s voice this time, “You said you’d come back after watering your plants–” The mess of a demon cut him off by picking up the phone.

“I’m here angel, don’t panic.” He said, feeling drained.

“Did you forget about our dinner reservations again?” Aziraphale asked, annoyingly concerned instead of upset. Crowley relished in it when the angel lost his cool, it was electrifying to watch. Aziraphale had stated multiple times before not to piss him off on purpose but the demon couldn’t resist.

“No, I just got… caught up. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”

Aziraphale sounded decidedly more chipper and asked Crowley to hurry, before hanging up. Crowley felt a bit too overwhelmed to miracle himself there, so he got into the Bentley and drove to the bookshop, hoping there weren’t any customers in so he and Aziraphale could leave without having to scare anyone out.

Last time they were almost late because the angel had Crowley shift into snake form. It was admittedly fun to slither across the floor and hiss at them, but it all got boring once someone tried to tame him.

Crowley sauntered through the doors, nearly forgetting that he was in a dress and stockings, the heels clicking as he walked. Aziraphale looked up, starting to say they were closed before stumbling over his words.

“What’s all this for then?” He asked, getting up to look at the outfit that the demon unknowingly picked for the evening.

“Warlock Dowling called me.” He said instead of answering like a normal person, brushing his curls away from his face. “Had to get into character.”

“O-Oh. Would you like to change?” The angel asked, looking at Crowley with careful eyes. These days, all Aziraphale did was worry about him and it seriously grated on his nerves.

“Do you want me to change?” Crowley challenged, popping his hip to rest it on the counter. He raised his eyebrows at the angel while he waited for his response.

“Well, _no_ but if you’re not comfortable in it then,”

“Course I’m comfortable. And, if you like it, it’s staying.” Crowley interrupted again with a matter-of-fact tone. He also knew that Aziraphale _hated_ being interrupted more than anything else in the universe.

(A stretch, but his point is that it was pretty far up the list.)

The angel’s expression said it all. He huffed and did what could only be described as a pout. “Should we head out now?” He asked, but it didn’t really sound like a question.

“If you don’t want to be late.” Crowley smiled, showing his fangs. Zira rolled his eyes and they got in the car, Crowley fully prepared to break every speed limit.

Over dinner, Aziraphale brought up the Warlock call again, as Crowley never really answered him.

“What did the young man want? I assumed he was completely done with us once he turned 10.” Aziraphale asked, dabbing his mouth with the napkin in his hand. If it wasn’t in his hand, then it was delicately spread across his lap to avoid spills.

“I assumed that too.” Crowley drawled. “Turns out he was grateful we rais– _helped_ raise him. He said he wanted to go out to lunch with us, which means you have to break out those ugly false teeth again.” The demon rarely hid his disgust for Aziraphale’s disguise.

_"Really angel, you could look like anyone in the world and you chose a Southern Gardener with false teeth and a knock off sherlock holmes costume?"_

“I thought the point was to be memorable, not attractive.” Aziraphale huffed. He had taken a long time coming up with his alibi and his character, while it had only taken Crowley fifteen seconds. “And if it really bothers you, I can say I got my teeth worked on.”

Crowley considered it for a moment and decided that yes, thank Someone, he’s getting rid of the teeth. “Should I say thank you?”

“If you want to feel your soul shrivel up, go right ahead. I’d love to hear every now and again.” Aziraphale smiled teasingly as he sipped his wine and Crowley felt a rush of affection for him that he tried to stamp out.

_Even after nine years of being safely hidden from Heaven and Hell, Crowley and Aziraphale hadn’t really focused on their relationship, and it was killing Crowley. They both knew they felt more than friendship, but one doesn’t just say it. They were so caught up in enjoying their freedom to live on earth that they completely neglected that portion of it._

“Well, thank you, angel.” He did in fact, feel something clench in his chest, but it wasn’t the fact that he was being nice. It was the tender look the angel gave him that made his heart squeeze.

“You’re welcome dear.” Dinner lapsed into comfortable small talk, and then comfortable silence. They drove back to the bookshop and Crowley paused outside it.

“Can I uh… come in?” He asked, feeling his heart squeeze again at the smile on Aziraphale’s face.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?”

“Yes.” Crowley bit his lip, his fang digging into it slightly. “Can I come in?” To sleep. With you. In your bed.

“You’re always welcome, you know that.” Aziraphale barely finished speaking and Crowley was clambering out of the car. The angel smiled softly and unlocked the door, letting them both in. He promptly relocked it, and shot another blinding smile Crowley’s way. “Tea?”

Crowley huffed out a laugh. There was no end to Aziraphale’s hospitality. “No thanks, angel. I just wanted to sleep.”

The angel blinked owlishly at him. “If you wanted to sleep why did you come in?”

“To be with you.” Crowley felt his throat shut at the angel’s obliviousness.

“Well that’s very kind dear but–”

“I want to sleep in your bed. Keep me company?”

Aziraphale stared and Crowley stared back. He wanted to retreat, in more ways than one. His serpent form sounded incredibly appealing right now.

“I don’t think I’ll be very good company if you’re comatose for 8 or so hours. Are you sure you just don’t want to head home?” He gently rested his hand on Crowley’s arm, clearly worried that something was wrong.

“I’m sure.”

Aziraphale nodded and took him upstairs, showing him to the bed that he rarely used. He nearly left but Crowley shifted and wrapped his body around Aziraphale’s legs, hissing softly.

“Crowley, honestly,” Aziraphale picked him up, feeling the serpent’s body go limp in his hands. If snakes could purr, he would be louder than a car engine. “What is it, darling? What do you want?”

Aziraphale sat on the edge of his bed and Crowley coiled his massive body on his lap. He didn’t bother making himself smaller, so his snake form was just as tall as his human body.

“You’re just going to go to sleep, then?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head at the creature who yawned, his tongue peeking out. “Alright, I suppose I can stay for one night.”

…

A week passed before Crowley had to get all spruced up again, making his hair shoulder length again before pinning it back carefully. He updated his style a little more, leaning away from the Mary Poppins style he had nine years ago.

Obviously he kept the heels and the purse, but he swapped his dress for a nice black trench coat. Of course it was a women’s trench coat, so there were shoulder pads, the waist was cinched, and it ended mid-thigh. He pulled on a black skirt to match the coat and his usual stockings.

Instead of just performing another miracle, he took the time to put his makeup on and get himself looking nice. He made sure his sunglasses were in place though, not willing to let go of his security blanket. Plus young Warlock would absolutely freak out if he saw Crowley’s yellow snake like eyes.

Crowley greeted Aziraphale at the bookshop, the angel having gotten rid of the teeth as requested. He was instead wearing his usual suit, only without the faded beige vest and bowtie. His face was still different, because he had tried so hard to look memorable, but Crowley ignored that part.

He didn’t like seeing his angel with another face, but he couldn’t really show up and have ‘Brother Francis’ looking completely different.

“So… we’re just going to continue playing the part? We’re not going to tell him who we really are?” Aziraphale asked, taking Crowley’s hand when it was offered.

“Why would we ever do that, angel?” Crowley asked, exasperated.

“Well I don’t know, he seems so excited to see us and I just felt it was wrong to continue deceiving him,”

“We’re not deceiving him. Besides, what would happen if we did tell him, huh? His entire childhood is as good as ruined. We’ll just be two more people that were using him.” Crowley felt his heart ache for his not-son.

“I… oh, I hate that you’re right.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and they found themselves in America, after having not been there in nearly a decade. “What place was he wanting to meet?”

Crowley pulled his phone out from one of his annoyingly small pockets that he forgot to make bigger, and checked his notes. The directions brought them to a hole in the wall café, which contrasted Warlock’s upbringing. (Expensive, spacious, and empty.) The café felt a bit like Aziraphale’s bookshop, but Crowley couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe it was because it was crowded with tables and cutesy decorations, or maybe it was the smell of food and cocoa.

_The word Crowley was looking for was_ loved _but he was too proud to admit it._

The young boy was seated at a table, and the look on his face when Aziraphale and Crowley both entered could’ve killed the demon with how much joy and love he was radiating.

What surprised them was the boy immediately stood, bringing them into a hug. Crowley carefully squeezed back, patting him on the back gently. Aziraphale returned it with just as much intensity as Warlock. The angel was always the better hugger.

Warlock was still just as neutral as he remembered him. Neither good nor evil, his aura was a silver gray that hovered around him. Crowley envied it sometimes when he was particularly emotional, wishing to be a neutral party like humans got to be.

“It’s so good to see you two,” Warlock nearly mumbled, seemingly embarrassed. He was choked up with an emotion Crowley wasn’t used to hearing.

_Again, it was love. Crowley could be so smart in some areas but he was decidedly lacking in his ability to read others’ emotions._

“It’s good to see you too, dear.” Crowley replied with a soft voice. Warlock pulled back and smiled, reaching up to wipe his eyes.

“You’ve gotten so tall.” Aziraphale said, astonished. He looked almost as proud as Crowley felt. Warlock smiled again and they all sat down to order drinks.

Immediately, Warlock wanted to know what they’d both been doing. Aziraphale fucked up and said he owned the bookstore, and quickly fixed it, saying he’d gotten sick of gardening and wanted something new. Warlock didn’t think anything of it besides polite interest.

“Where in London is it?” Warlock asked with a smile, making Aziraphale look nervous.

“Soho. Were you thinking of visiting?”

“Moving, actually.” Warlock said casually. “I hate living here. America is nice sometimes but there’s so much shit going on nowadays. Plus my dad keeps pushing me to run for community board.” Crowley choked on his drink and Aziraphale almost swallowed his fork.

“Really?” Crowley sputtered, nearly forgetting to keep his accent in check. “Well, I, that’d be just lovely having you so close by, wouldn’t it Francis?” Crowley elbowed Aziraphale harshly in the side.

“Oh yes! Just lovely.” The angel glared at him from the corner of his eye. Crowley could tell Zira was getting unhappier by the second and Crowley sighed internally. The angel was probably planning to come clean to the poor boy. “When were you planning on moving?”

“Well that’s why I wanted to see you. I’m going to move in a few weeks. Isn’t that great?” Warlock smiled proudly.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale and the angel was forcing a carefree smile. He knows his angel well enough to see it in his eyes, Aziraphale is not happy with him and Crowley is gonna get it when they’re alone.

“Where are you moving to, darling?” Crowley asked, trying to drink his coffee without seeming nervous. Masking his emotions is right up his alley.

“Oh, just this small village in Northern London; Tadfield. Have you ever been there?”

Aziraphale almost choked again and Crowley just smiled. “Oh yes, we’ve been there loads of times. Wonderful place to raise a child.” The demon was just repeating shit Adam, Anathema, and Newt have said. Truthfully, they only visit sometimes to see them.

Warlock blushed. “Are you guys planning on… you know?”

“Planning on what?” Aziraphale immediately blurted. Crowley would’ve smacked himself if he wasn’t too preoccupied trying not to burst into flames or change form suddenly out of sheer embarrassment.

“Having a kid?” Warlock asked, blinking owlishly.

“Us?” Aziraphale asked, looking at Crowley, who was staring into his cup. “We’re um, we’re not together.” (And Crowley doesn’t have a uterus. But Warlock didn’t need to know that.)

“You’re not?” Warlock blurted, looking shocked. “But you… so you’re not married? I could’ve sworn.” He mumbled to himself.

“No, dear, we’re not.” Crowley replied, realizing how this must look to the young boy. The demon said he knew where Aziraphale lived and they had that rivalry thing when Warlock was younger.

“Well, why aren’t you?” Warlock said rather bluntly, looking between the two like they were a goddamn science experiment. Warlock of course, used to ask far too many questions when he was younger, but Crowley thought he would’ve grown out of that by now.

On the upside, at least he’s going to be a lovely friend for Adam, who also asks too much as well.

“Yeah, Francis, why aren’t we?” Crowley decided to throw him under the bus completely, smiling at his angel who immediately started sputtering.

“I uh, I don’t… know?” Aziraphale answered, looking nervous enough to bolt.

To their relief Warlock laughed at their shock and conversation diverted into questions about Tadfield. He asked about the summers, which Crowley and Aziraphale both immediately said that it’s had perfect weather for 20 straight years. It took a lot of effort to hide their grins.

Adam continued to affect Tadfield even though he rejected Satan as his father. Just because he rejected him doesn’t mean his powers had gone away, though the whispers and demonic interference had.

“You’ll um… you’ll visit me when I move right?” Warlock said as they were standing up to leave, drinks finished. The poor boy looked nervous, and downright upset.

Crowley’s instincts to parent him hadn’t gone away apparently. “Of course, darling. Why wouldn’t we?”

Warlock hugged them both again and as soon as they were alone Aziraphale smacked him on the shoulder.

“We cannot keep this up forever Crowley, honestly I won’t stand for this!” The angel huffed, crossing his arms. He had miracled his disguise away to the demon’s relief.

“Well, what else are we supposed to do?” He drawled, snapping to right himself as well. “We can’t just disappear or fake our deaths, Warlock has no one else!”

Aziraphale paused, and then he smiled. “You love him, don’t you.”

Crowley huffed. “He’s uh, he’s alright I guess.” He brushed it off, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing at his nails.

“Oh, you’ve gone soft. What happened to the terrifying serpent from the Beginning?” Aziraphale teased, briefly pausing the argument to miracle them into the bookshop.

“I am not _soft._ ” Crowley growled, stalking toward the couch to sit down.

“Okay, sure, you’re not soft. You just care an unreasonably large amount for a boy you thought was the antichrist.” Aziraphale hummed, heading into the kitchen to grab a new bottle of wine.

Crowley of course, knew Aziraphale was right. He just wouldn’t admit it.

“Well then, what are we going to do once he moves? Because I am not wearing that disguise again.” The angel brought back two glasses, setting them on his coffee table.

“We’re not taking away the one thing he has, angel. That’s cruel.” The demon snagged one of the wine glasses with more aggression than necessary, filling it the top.

“Isn’t cruel your thing?” Aziraphale asked, feigning innocence. He knew how much Crowley hated being called out for that, almost as much as he hated being called Nice.

“Obviously not.” The demon scoffed, drinking from his glass. “We could… ah shit, let’s just tell him.”

“Tell him what–?”

“Tell him _everything_ , from the beginning.” Crowley interrupted him, smirking at the look on the angel’s face.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am Nanny Ashtoreth.” The man (?) answered, looking incredibly uncomfortable and rather upset.  
> “But… she’s a woman?” Warlock countered before back tracking slightly. “Are you a drag queen? Or a transwoman?” Warlock paused. “Transman? Did you transition before coming here?”  
> The man (?) in black sighed. “No to all of that, though I’m glad to see you’re progressive.”  
> “I’m taking credit for that.” The man in white said proudly, adjusting his… tartan bowtie?  
> “Oh, fuck off, angel, just because I didn’t teach him to love all God’s creatures doesn’t mean I can’t take credit for just a little bit of good in him. And I fuck with gender the most so, clearly this one is on me–”

“Tell him everything, from the beginning.” Crowley interrupted him, smirking at the look on the angel’s face.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked, looking at him with thinly veiled concern. His brows knit together, and his nose was scrunched up.

“Would I say it if I wasn’t, angel?” Crowley gave him a pointed look, sipping from his glass. Aziraphale swallowed and seemed to be mentally weighing it in his head.

“Well, no, but sometimes you do things you don’t want to because you think it’s the right thing–”

“I’m a demon; I don’t _do_ the right thing.” Crowley growled, adjusting his shades. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Right, my mistake.” He said with just a hint of sarcasm. “Either way, I can’t really trust your word–”

“I thought you wanted us to come clean, angel? Why are you arguing about it?”

Aziraphale huffed angrily. Crowley was not used to this kind of frustration. This wasn’t the fun kind. “Would you quit interrupting me, honestly! I will make you sleep on the couch, don’t think I won’t!”

Crowley winced at the threat and then thought back to what Warlock said earlier today. “Are you sure we’re not married?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“Oh, don’t change the subject, you always do this when I’m mad at you.” Aziraphale set his glass down and crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, no, I’m serious. I mean, we share a bed, we live together for months on end,”

“We’re not humans, Crowley. We don’t get ‘married.’ We are an _angel_ and a _demon_. I thought you’d realized by now that we don’t follow their silly customs.” Aziraphale must’ve been pissed if he’d talk badly about the poor little humans and their customs. In fact, it’s usually Crowley bad talking them and Aziraphale having a fascination for their traditions.

“Oh, come off it angel. We’re practically humans at this point.” Heaven and Hell had completely rejected the two of them, but the Almighty’s stance was still unclear. After all, Aziraphale hadn’t fallen when he (or Crowley-as-Aziraphale) had pulled that stunt in the hellfire. And Crowley hadn’t been necessarily redeemed, and he’s heard nothing from downstairs about his situation other than ‘we’ll leave you alone.’

Aziraphale frowned. “Perhaps. Humans with wings and the ability to perform miracles. Oh, and don’t forget the fact that we’re immortal.” The angel was talking with emphasis on almost every word; his way of telling Crowley he was spouting something stupid.

“Yeah, ok, whatever.” Crowley waved him off, throwing back the rest of his glass. He refilled it before speaking again. “Back to the problem at hand.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Fine. We can tell him. But you’re the one doing it.”

Crowley looked up in shock and dismay, “Well that’s hardly fair!”

“Come on, you just said earlier that this would crush the poor boy, and well, you’re the demon, I’m the nice one, you don’t do good deeds, that’s what you said isn’t it?” Aziraphale answered, knowing he’s got Crowley wrapped around his fucking pinky finger.

The demon grumbled into his glass in annoyance. “We both deceived him, I shouldn’t be the only one telling him. Plus, I raised him, and he called me first.”

“Oh, you raised him now? Didn’t just help?” Aziraphale looked like the cat that caught the canary.

“Fuck off,” He said simply when the angel started laughing, knowing he caught the demon red-handed.

…

Warlock’s moving date came up a lot sooner than the demon or the angel would’ve liked. Obviously Aziraphale was still pushing Crowley to say it so he wouldn’t have to, and the demon was dreading it immensely.

He didn’t want to see Warlock’s face when he told him. It would be so much easier if Crowley didn’t have to do this at all; if Warlock just _knew_. But it seems the world just doesn’t work that way.

“You two will be here to help me unpack right?” He’d asked over the phone, Crowley getting a pit in his stomach.

“Of course dear. Just give us your address and we’ll be there.” Crowley wrote it down when Warlock read it off and he tried not to cry because; 1) his baby was so grown up, and 2) he was going to crush this young boy and there was nothing he could do about it.

On Wednesday, April 5th, Year 2028 at 12:04 pm, Warlock Dowling opened his door and saw two men standing on the porch that he’d never met. One of which was strikingly similar to Nanny Ashtoreth. He blinked twice and tried to think of what to say. By all accounts it didn’t make sense.

“Uh. Hello?” He asked, looking at them with a polite but nervous smile.

“Hello.” The other man dressed in all white said politely. Then he looked to the redhead dressed in all black expectantly. Warlock noticed the shades sitting on his nose and he frowned.

“Do you… are you related to Ms. Ashtoreth?” He asked, trying to figure out why in god’s name he’s wearing the same shades she does. If he’s family, then they all must wear the glasses, and if he isn’t, then it’s the weirdest coincidence he’s ever been witness to.

“Well, that’s why we’re here.” The skinnier man with the shades said after an awful lot of fumbling. “Listen, we need to explain something to you.”

“I don’t understand?” Warlock answered, not moving to open the door any further.

“I am Nanny Ashtoreth.” The man (?) answered, looking incredibly uncomfortable and rather upset.

“But… she’s a woman?” Warlock countered before back tracking slightly. “Are you a drag queen? Or a transwoman?” Warlock paused. “Transman? Did you transition before coming here?”

The man (?) in black sighed. “No to all of that, though I’m glad to see you’re progressive.”

“I’m taking credit for that.” The man in white said proudly, adjusting his… tartan bowtie?

“Oh, fuck off, angel, just because I didn’t teach him to love all God’s creatures doesn’t mean I can’t take credit for just a little bit of good in him. And I fuck with gender the most so, clearly this one is on me–”

“Okay, stop.” Warlock pinched his nose. “Just… stop. This is all too confusing, and I can’t handle listening to you two… bicker.” Warlock looked up in realization.

Both men stared at Warlock as he seemed to go through all the stages of grief.

“You… you were using me too. You were all using me.” Warlock said in the smallest voice. The man (?) in black looked completely heartbroken.

“It wasn’t like that–” He argued, stopping when Warlock held his palm up to silence him.

“Who were you working for, huh? My father? The government?” The young man asked expectantly. He knew his father’s agents have followed him around his whole life, whether they’re disguised as a Starbucks Barista, the manager at his new job, or just everyday people on the street, but he never expected the two people closest to him, the two people he actually _trusted_ to betray him as well.

He should’ve known, really.

“Shit, this has happened to you before? I mean, I didn’t think Mr. Dowling was above it but Christ.” Crowley rubbed his eyes, already exhausted. He didn’t even need sleep and he was daydreaming about curling up in bed… or maybe on the ceiling. Whatever gets the job done.

Warlock frowned. “So… you aren’t working for my dad?”

“No, dear boy. We never really got along with your father.” Aziraphale answered, finally weighing in. Mr. Dowling wasn’t a bad person, but both of Warlock’s parents neglecting the poor boy made the angel and the demon protective of him. As a result, they weren’t on very good terms with his parents, even though they had to keep their jobs.

“Who are you working for then?” Warlock’s frown got deeper, his eyes going icy with both hate and fear.

“God and Satan. Well, not really. Not anymore. But we used to work for them.” Crowley’s tongue tingled when he spoke the name of the Almighty. Warlock looked between them and found there wasn’t a hint of a lie on their faces.

“Are you kidding me?”

“If you let us in, we can explain. And, I swear, demons are not the same as vampires, I won’t suck your blood or eat your organs if you invite us inside. And angel boy is physically incapable of hurting anyone.” Crowley drawled, causing Warlock to look up in confusion.

“Demon?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes, demon.” Crowley slid his glasses down, his yellow eyes glowed in the lamp light and Warlock, surprisingly, didn’t reel back.

“Is that why you wear the shades all the time–?”

“You can ask questions after we get off your porch.” Crowley interrupted a little too harshly, and the boy opened the door. The two celestial beings entered, seeing the unopened boxes lying on every available surface.

Warlock may not be spoiled anymore, but he definitely doesn’t know how to live frugally.

“Well?” Warlock asked, moving to sit on the couch. Aziraphale immediately made himself comfy on an armchair while Crowley elected to drape his arm over the top of it, resting his hip on the side of the chair. Aziraphale was smiling politely, while the demon refused to meet his eyes, looking around instead.

“Tell me why God or Satan is surveying me, from the beginning.” Warlock pushed again, leading to Aziraphale stepping in. Crowley would’ve groaned in annoyance if he wasn’t too busy trying not to look at the not-antichrist who is also definitely not his son. (Not anymore at least.)

“Alright so, in Eden, I was stationed at the eastern gate, and Crowley in the form of a serpent, tempted Adam and Eve to eat from the tree,” At Crowley’s piercing look he sighed. He didn’t need to say anything and Aziraphale could hear him saying, _“The short version, angel.”_

“Eden? Adam and Eve? The bible… wasn’t just a big fucking lie?” Warlock asked, and the two men shaped beings knew they said too much.

“Sorry I got ahead of myself. A- Uh, so Crowley was given the… antichrist. You were swapped with the antichrist when they meant for him to go to your parents. Hell and Heaven both thought you were the son of Satan, but you are actually the biological son of Deirdre and Arthur Young.”

Warlock was reeling with the amount of information, but once you got the angel going, he couldn’t stop.

“The Dowling’s son was adopted off, and the antichrist ended up with your biological parents. We raised you, trying to put both good and evil influences on you so you turned out… neutral. To avert the apocalypse. Once Crowley realized he misplaced the real antichrist–”

“ _We_ misplaced him.” Crowley interrupted with a hint of annoyance on his face. 

“We went looking for the real one. So that’s what happened nine years ago. Adam Young came into his power and Heaven and Hell realized there wasn’t going to be a war, so here we are. Safe and sound… well for the most part.” Aziraphale breathed in even though he didn’t have to.

“The antichrist is real?” Is all Warlock could think to say.

“Yeah. He lives around here. Pretty sweet kid. Never would’ve guessed he had the power to summon the kraken.” Crowley finally chimed in, still not meeting his eyes.

Warlock buried his face in his hands and wept softly, hiccupping between gasps.

Aziraphale stared and Crowley immediately snapped to attention, finally looking at him. He took his shades off and sat beside the boy on the couch. Immediately Warlock clung to his waist, pressing his cheek into Crowley’s chest.

The demon instinctively cradled him, hushing the poor boy.

“Why did this have to happen to _me_?” Warlock asked no one in particular, with a sob that made Crowley’s heart hurt. “Do you guys care about me? Was this just a job to you?”

“It wasn’t a job.” Aziraphale answered, because Crowley had a lap full of a crying 20-year-old man. “We did it because we love earth. If Heaven and Hell went to war… the earth would’ve been destroyed. We couldn’t just stand by and let anyone influence you.”

“We wanted to protect you, Warlock.” Crowley emphasized, still moving his hand in circles on the boy’s back. He remembered holding him as a baby, shushing him by bouncing the infant on his hip. He remembered rolling the crib into his spare room when the poor thing wouldn’t stop crying unless Crowley was near.

No, none of the affection and the love was fake. It started as a selfish deed, out of Crowley’s desire not to return to Hell or go to war, but as soon as Crowley saw his face, he knew he couldn’t keep his feelings out of it.

Warlock wiped his face, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe. Crowley couldn’t relate.

“S-So you, you just… disguised yourself as a woman? And uhhh,” Warlock looked to Aziraphale for a name.

“Aziraphale.” The angel helpfully supplied, and Warlock dead panned.

“Angel, why did you choose… that disguise? Believe me, I loved Brother Francis but… I prefer this form.”

Crowley fought back a smile when Warlock said ‘angel’ and then he couldn’t contain it when the boy agreed with him. “I told you, Ziraphale! Just because it’s memorable doesn’t mean it’s good!”

“At least I didn’t dress like a prostitute.” Aziraphale huffed, miracling himself a cup of tea. “Honestly, Crowley–”

“How did you do that?” Warlock interrupted, staring at the teacup in confusion.

Aziraphale looked incredibly gleeful and Crowley did groan this time. “Please, angel, don’t–”

It was too late. The angel pulled a coin from his pocket and ‘stealthily’ put it ‘inside’ Warlock’s ear. Even the young boy looked unimpressed.

“Magic!” The angel said proudly, ‘blowing’ the coin away before promptly dropping it into his lap with a soft clink sound.

“No, no, no, you just did _real_ magic! Show me the real magic again!” Warlock said before coming to yet another realization. “My eleventh birthday. The magician. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley smiled to himself proudly. “Yes,” He thought, “This is definitely my kid.”

He immediately backtracked again, repeating the words not-son and not-antichrist in his head.

“You realize I almost shot you, right? Because your act was so fake?” Warlock tilted his head again. Now he was back to his usual overly inquisitive self.

“You know, you can get punished for asking questions up there.” Crowley interrupted briefly, gesturing to the sky, knowing his angel couldn’t normally handle being teased so much in such a short time.

“Really?” Warlock asked, which was comical in itself.

“Yes, really. And I can tell you all about that after we unpack all these boxes. Seriously kid, how’d you afford this much crap. Is it YouTube money?” Crowley asked, gaining a laugh from the young man. Aziraphale may be out of touch with the internet, but Crowley fucking invented it.

_To clarify, no he did not. He influenced the invention of snapchat, kik, and Tumblr for the sin of lust, and he also invented selfies to instill vanity in humans, but he did not go as far as create the entire internet. Judging by his mostly fake paperwork though, Crowley did basically claim he invented it. Maybe after 6000 or so years of lying caused the demon to actually believe it._

“No, I, I actually started working at this comic bookstore in the US. I don’t know what I’ll do when I’m here. Probably start working as a barista or something. I’d say fast food, but Tadfield doesn’t have any restaurant chains.” Warlock said as he tore open one of the boxes. “If something goes wrong, I guess I’ll have to make up with my dad to get my trust fund back.”

Crowley snapped his fingers, organizing the cutlery and plates in the kitchen in a blink of an eye.

“You could always lean on us.” Aziraphale suggested, which made Crowley almost drop a plate. Sure, he cared about the kid, but they didn’t have any spare rooms and also Warlock probably wouldn’t like staying in Crowley’s flat.

“Really?” Warlock’s tone made the demon pause. The boy was holding a stack of furniture instructions and he seemed… so hopeful it wasn’t funny. His silver-grey aura started to glow faintly, and the demon hissed to himself. Okay… so they were doing This now.

“Of course, dear. We wouldn’t just let you get thrown out. Besides, Crowley and I have talked about getting a cottage out here.”

The demon snapped his head up in shock. They talked about that so long ago that the demon thought he’d forgotten. Aziraphale was still open to just… up and leaving his bookstore? When he’d mentioned it, Aziraphale was adamantly against it.

He wouldn’t dream of leaving Soho after spending hundreds of years there. At least that’s what he’d said.

“I uh, yeah, I thought you forgot about that.” Crowley sputtered, earning a look from the angel.

“I have a 6000-year life span and you thought I was going to forget what you said five years ago? Honestly, Crowley, I remember you during Shakespearean times!” Aziraphale said with his hands on his hips. Despite his tone the demon was flustered knowing his angel thought he was important enough to remember all those years ago.

“6000 years? Why didn’t either of you help me with my history homework?” Warlock interrupted with a small pout.

“No one would’ve believed our version of it. You humans have an extraordinary way of twisting history to support your side of the argument.” Aziraphale answered simply, helping put cups away in the cupboards. 

_What Aziraphale wanted to say was, “We spent 6000 years flirting and getting into near death experiences, all my memories that don’t involve Crowley have blended into one big mess.” To be fair, what he did say was completely true. Human Beings like to change the story, and there was absolutely no demon intervention involved in this aspect of humanity._

“Well that’s a load of bs.” Warlock said, watching Crowley miracle the rooms into order from the side of his eye. “Speaking of things that aren’t bs, how are you both doing _that_?”

Warlock pointed to the way the furniture was assembling itself. Crowley was reclining against the counter, barely looking as he flicked his wrist.

“We’re supernatural entities. I can do pretty much anything I want. Aziraphale on the other hand, automatically notifies his boss when he performs a miracle. Think of it as an amber alert or whatever. He can’t really do much.” Crowley teased, flicking another couch into place. Warlock frowned.

“Well that doesn’t seem very efficient. What good is magic if you can’t do it whenever you want?” He asked while trying to assemble the one chair that Crowley hadn’t touched.

“It’s not magic. I perform miracles.” Aziraphale tried to correct him but Crowley interrupted him by clacking two chair legs together. The angel glared at him good naturedly. “Even though I don’t belong to heaven anymore I think Gabriel still gets notified, so I like to use it carefully, if at all.”

“Gabriel? Like the archangel Gabriel? What’s he like?” Warlock asked, reaching down to unpack another box.

“A fucking prick. If you see a tall man with purple eyes in a stupid suit, run the other direction.” Crowley interrupted before Aziraphale could say anything at all. Honestly Aziraphale couldn’t really argue with him, so he stayed mostly quiet and focused on arranging Warlock’s various knickknacks and photos.

“Alright, Cowley.” Warlock paused. “Crawley?”

Aziraphale saw the demon flinch at the use of his deadname.

“Crowley.” He corrected, pausing to ruffle his not-son’s hair. The demon acted like it didn’t even bother him. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I mean, maybe. But I won’t be able to pronounce his name.” Warlock pointed at Aziraphale and the angel huffed.

“Maybe not. You could always call him angel though. That’s what I do.” Crowley said and Aziraphale blushed. Warlock looked between them again.

“Would you guys want to stay for dinner?”

…

After a takeout pizza and a conversation full of Warlock hinting at them being together, Aziraphale and Crowley got in the Bentley with a final wave to the young boy.

“Should we have visited Adam and the Devices while we were in town?” Aziraphale asked, adjusting his bowtie again in the mirror. Crowley wasn’t trying that hard to focus on the road, he was too busy looking at his angel.

“Nah, I think Warlock needed to be the center of attention for once. Poor kid hasn’t been since day one.” Crowley said, more adoration and sympathy for the boy seeping out through his words.

“You’re so soft for a serpent.” Aziraphale smiled and Crowley rolled his eyes.

“And you’re such a bastard for an angel. Drinks or straight to bed?” Crowley was ready to pass out if he was being honest. It always shocked him, his need for sleep.

Performing too many miracles tired him out.

_It was partly the miracles, and partly the fact that Crowley had just unloaded a shit ton of emotional turmoil and then spent the next three hours after that just being social. And of course, Crowley is not one to spend time with people unless it’s one ‘person’ and their name is Aziraphale._

“You want to sleep tonight?” Aziraphale asked, side eyeing him before locking his gaze back on Crowley’s speedometer, which was barely going past 70.

“Yeah, but I don’t have to.” Crowley answered, knowing he won’t be able to sleep without his angel there, and if Aziraphale just said the word Crowley would stay up forever if he wanted.

“Well, you’ll have to let me clean up first. The bed is a little messy since we took our last nap.” Aziraphale said, making the demon flood with relief.

“Sure, sure, sure, no problem.” Crowley practically spit out, speeding up the car just a bit. The Bentley was unnaturally quiet due to having no music in it at the moment. Usually, the Bentley had a mind of its own and it would turn something on if it didn’t like the quiet, but for now it seemed content to let the pair drive in silence.

Sometimes the Bentley likes to give Aziraphale ‘hints’ by turning on Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy. It always seems like the angel might be realizing Crowley’s been desperately in love with him for 6000 years, but then the line about the Ritz plays and Aziraphale is sidetracked thinking about the food. One night, it looped three times over, but Aziraphale was rambling on about the Maple Roasted Pears that they did.

“Are you alright?” His angel’s voice disturbed his daydreaming/walk down memory lane and Crowley blinked to bring himself back to the present.

“Just tired.” Crowley answered, still not used to that word being in his mouth. If Hell knew how much he slept, they’d have another thing to add to their ‘Crowley has gone native’ conspiracy board. He knew for a fact that Heaven and Hell are still surveying them, still watching what miracles Aziraphale does, still making sure they aren’t ‘fraternizing’, but Crowley could care less.

They could look all they want. Nothing is going to stop him from dining out with his angel, going for walks in the park, and spending time with him.

“Make sure you don’t push yourself.” Aziraphale murmured as the car was slowing to a stop outside the bookshop. “We can’t avert another apocalypse with a sleepy demon.”

Crowley could’ve sworn he heard some affection in there, romantic affection, but who was he kidding? If Aziraphale hasn’t liked him all this time, why would he start now?

_The demon of course, was exercising his skill of being completely oblivious, while also thinking he is the smartest person in the room. Angel of the eastern gate, Principality Aziraphale, has been in love with Crowley since 1941. The moment Crowley handed Aziraphale the books, the angel realized his feelings for the other being weren’t entirely just love for all creatures. In fact, he’d been a fool to think that to start with. Angels may be made of love, but they normally do not feel love for the Fallen. There have been few instances, but normal angels usually just push it down. It’s been clear since the very beginning that Aziraphale is not normal._

Aziraphale tidied the room and then helped get Crowley into bed, whose limbs felt suddenly heavier than normal. The angel tucked him in before climbing into the other side, the demon latching onto him immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhh help me write Crowley and Aziraphale. First Good Omens Fic hghg


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